Bali Ho!
by girl in the glen
Summary: This story is now complete. Hot tropical nights accompany four UNCLE agents as they seek out THRUSH in the pacific paradise of Bali. The earlier work referenced as New Girl is posted here on Fan Fiction
1. Chapter 1

The corridors of UNCLE Headquarters were humming with activity as personnel carried out the various duties assigned to them, both men and women. The female staff had only recently expanded from support personnel to field agents, including the first woman to enter the elite ranks of Section II.

April Dancer was newly assigned to New York after a mission that had taken her from Paris to the Mediterranean, and now here to the heart of UNCLE: New York City. Of course the excitement of being stationed in the same location as Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin served to remind her of that first mission and the whirlwind of action and emotions that had initiated her into the ranks of Section II. (New Girl)

Mark Slate sauntered past a row of secretaries as he headed towards the elevator, turning a few heads as he calculated the probability of dating the ones not already swooning over Napoleon. His train of thought was interrupted by the sight of his new partner, April.

"Hi Mark. I guess we're really official now." April was nervous, it would be her first meeting with Alexander Waverly around the legendary round table that served as his desk.

"Hello luv, you look a little nervous.' His smile gave her some reassurance.

"Just relax and let the meeting go on around you, take it all in. You'll know when to chime in." April slipped her arm around Mark's, grateful for the wisdom that had paired them as partners.

"Thanks Mark. Really, I'm good, just excited and… well maybe a little nervous."

"You're Section II April, you've already proven yourself." It was just what she needed to hear. Facing the door to Waverly's office, the two walked through the swishing pneumatic doors and were met by the three men who occupied the top roles in the New York headquarters.

Waverly's back was turned as he engaged the panel of lights and switches located on the wall behind his spot. Napoleon was dressed in his immaculate style, but Illya was less pristine in appearance. His suit was dirty, as though he'd rolled in mud, leaving the black suit and turtleneck worse for wear. His pallor was unusually pale, white against the dark clothing.

"Illya? What happened, you look like you've been run over by a … " Illya held up his hand to stop April from saying more.

"I was, run over that is." Brief and slightly cryptic, he said nothing more, wincing slightly when he moved to reach for the glass of water in front of him.

"Are you hurt?" April felt her stomach lurch slightly, aware once more that she had an annoying attraction to the blond agent. He looked like he should be in Medical instead of Waverly's office.

Napoleon noted the look in April's eyes, her lack of restraint concerning emotions when confronted with something like Illya's appearance. She still had a lot to learn.

Waverly turned around and addressed his agents, noting once more Kuryakin's condition and the attention he was getting from Miss Dancer's appraisal of him. That would bear watching.

"Gentlemen, Miss Dancer, you are the four people who will be embarking on a journey that has, as its destination, an all-inclusive holiday island; a vacation village, according to the promotional materials. We do not yet know whether the owners are themselves a THRUSH entity, or if the Hierarchy has simply infiltrated its ranks. What we do know is that one of our own has died at the location in Bali, and you four are going to find out why, and how."

Napoleon looked around the table before speaking.

"Sir, the report doesn't say whether Dave Rogers was there on UNCLE business or for a vacation. He was stationed in Hong Kong, so the mission began there I assume." This sort of thing was always distressing, losing an agent without knowing the details of his demise or the mission he was carrying out.

"Mr. Rogers was in Bali, at this resort… uh… _Club de Vacances,_ on a search for evidence that THRUSH is indeed involved there. It now seems evident that they are present, just to what degree we are not yet certain."

Illya was looking tired, but he could sleep on the flight out. The arrangements were as yet not detailed to the four agents.

"Sir, what will be our roles in this affair?" He hoped his was to sleep on the beach for a few days.

"Mr. Kuryakin, you and Miss Dancer will be there as a couple, newly married. Mr. Slate will be part of the flight crew, staying on the island resort as part of a ... ahhh..."

"Layover, sir?" Mark inserted the stray word.

"Yes, yes, quite so. Thank you Mr. Slate. Mr. Solo is traveling alone, and therefore free to engage the female staff for, ahem… information. Please let that be your only engagement, Mr. Solo." The eyebrows shot up to the Old Man's hairline as he accented the instructions to his top agent.

"Oh, yes sir, I shall be very circumspect." Napoleon glanced over at Mark and April, winking without cracking a smile.

"And you, Mr. Kuryakin, report to Medical immediately upon leaving my office and do whatever the doctor tells you to do.' His eyes bored into his Russian agent unmercifully.

"Do you understand?" Illya winced slightly, almost imperceptibly, as he acknowledged his superior. There was at least one rib damaged in the fracas he and Napoleon had encountered while shutting down a small THRUSH enterprise a few miles north of the City. He had a cut on his scalp, the result of a lunatic who came at him yelping like one of the so-called Indians in an American film about the wild west. He seemingly intended to scalp the blond, but Napoleon had put an end to it.

What Illya secretly longed for was a few days off, and the idea of going to Bali for a few days, even if on a mission, had a definite appeal. No objections to some time on the beach.

 _Neither would he object to spending time with Miss Dancer._


	2. Chapter 2:

Nurse Caulfield jerked her head towards Exam Room 2.

"The only thing worse than an angry Russian…"

"Is an injured Russian." The second nurse shrugged her shoulders as she submitted to her task of tending to that injured Russian. Illya Kuryakin was hurting, his hair was matted with blood and he didn't think a good cleaning job would take care of the condition of his suit. He should have worn the jeans and …

"Mr. Kuryakin, what have we done today?" Illya recoiled at Nurse Greene's use of the that inclusive phrasing.

"I cannot vouch for your activities. Mine, on the other hand, included a seemingly obvious encounter with …' He stopped. It was exhausting at time trying to himself. Nurse Greene, Irma he recalled, was looking at him with that expression he so often saw on the faces of other people; the people he was trying to intimidate.

"I apologize. My head hurts, and …" She looked at him with a recognizable expression: compassion.

"I imagine it does. The blood in your hair; yours?" Illya nodded. He was suddenly aware of how white everything was. White walls, white cabinets, white clothed nurse. The whole of it started moving in a swirl as his eyes rolled upwards to the white ceiling.

Thud!

Irma Green started shouting as she flung the door open.

"Hey, I need some help in here. Agent down!"

When Illya Kuryakin awoke, he was lying down on the exam table. Someone had removed his jacket and shirt so that his bruised torso was exposed for examination. He felt a pair of hands on his head before he saw the nurse pick up a pair of clippers and hand them to whoever was fiddling with his hair.

"Ouch." It was an involuntary yelp.

"Yeah, I bet it hurts." It was Doctor Wells, someone Illya knew better than he would have liked.

"Illya, this cut needs stitches and I don't see any other way of doing it except…' He sighed, dreading the reaction of the long-haired agent.

"We need to shave around it in order to do the stitches." Wells waited, looking sideways at Nurse Greene as she held the clippers in a tight grip.

Illya was tired. The last month had been non-stop for him and his partner. They had been in five different countries over three continents, been blown up, beat up and generally mistreated by the enemy and one particularly irate shopkeeper.

"Shave it off. I don't care, just … do what needs to be done.'' Doctor and nurse alike were stunned, and simultaneously concerned. Kuryakin rarely submitted to anything without first lecturing, or scorning its necessity.

"Are you sure? We could just shave around it." That caused Illya to look up and smile.

"Very funny. Can you imagine what a bald spot in the middle of my hair would look like. No THRUSH goon worth his salt would take me seriously.' The other two had to smile now, the point taken.

''Just cut it all off and do what you need to do."

Napoleon had met with April and Mark again, filling them in on the strategy he was planning to use once they arrived at their destination. _Club de Vacances_ was a French owned enterprise that catered to _well to do_ clients in search of privacy as they spent days in luxurious pampering. The setting was ideal for romance, so that couples as well as those seeking romance were catered to by the social activities included in the unique vacation package.

As the three sat huddled over maps and photos of the facility, Illya pushed through the door and into the room. April looked up first, gasping at the sight of a newly shorn Illya.

"What's wrong?" Napoleon caught April's intake of breath and looked up to see his partner.

"Illya?"

"Did you take me for someone else?" The deadpan expression betrayed nothing. He was dressed now in jeans and a tee shirt, his tattered suit and turtleneck long gone. He was wearing leather flip flops, already looking as though on vacation.

"What happened to your hair?" Now Mark chimed in. Looking at Illya dressed like he was, his hair cropped close, he was reminded of an actor from back in the U.K. He couldn't recall his name…

"I needed stitches, and it seemed unlikely that a shaved spot on my head would carry with it the sort of image we're after on this affair."

Napoleon was incredulous. The hair was a, a thing… a real thing.

"So they shaved your head?" Illya nodded. He looked even younger now, thinner and slightly gaunt. A new angle to this mission suddenly popped into Napoleon's mind.

"Yeah, yeah… I get it. Say, what if we use this to our advantage. Illya, how would you like to be recovering from something and therefore on this vacation, in need of respite? That would sort of take you off of their radar, give you more freedom to snoop around. They wouldn't be watching as closely as they will, well… me."

Everyone silently agreed that it was a good plan. Illya's misfortune could be turned into an asset on this mission.


	3. Chapter 3

There would be two legs to the journey, the second a rare encounter with luxury that surprised and delighted each of the four agents.

Because of the discovery and subsequent death of agent Dave Rogers, it seemed certain that THRUSH was somehow present in Indonesia, specifically Bali. In order to divert attention from his people as they arrived in Bali, Alexander Waverly purchased passage aboard the luxury liner SS Rotterdam, on its world cruise of 1965. Departing from New York in January, Napoleon and the others would board the ship in Hong Kong and travel to Bali, the next destination. It would be a short brush with luxury, but each of them relished the opportunity to travel in style.

Mark was the exception, his role as a steward aboard the Dutch liner would keep his profile low, but Waverly's keen sense of strategy knew in that position he was most likely to pick up any intelligence about THRUSH, if any were aboard ship.

The post Dutch government had been endeavoring to create a viable tourism industry similar to what had existed before the war. The trend towards partnering with Western entities seemed consistent with this French enterprise that was the destination for the team from UNCLE. It was located north of Kuta, the best known of the beachside vacation spots on the island, long admired for the white sand and tantalizing blue water. Diving was a popular activity, as was surfing, which attracted an international group far different from the cruise ship patrons.

The political climate in Indonesia was reflected in Bali as it struggled to maintain its cultural identity after World War II. Gaining independence from the Dutch colonial system had produced a strong nationalistic conscience, and an equally strong resistance to Westernization such as had dominated the cultivated images of colonialism.

The fifties saw the emergence of cultural art forms as a lure for the visitors whose dollars meant so much to a poverty stricken region. Teachers came from the West to help educate those being liberated from a caste system similar to that in India, another culture that was a dominant influence in Indonesia. Manipulating the various images, taking from those that had placed Bali on pathways of tourists in decades past, helped to develop a new and exotic picture that would draw those like the passengers on the SS Rotterdam to the idyllic place advertised.

Having endured the long flight to Hong Kong, with a stopover in Honolulu, it was with great relief that Napoleon, Illya, April and Mark finally boarded the ship that would carry them to their mission. They were deliberately separate as they made their ways to the assigned rooms. Mark's would be below decks, in the rooms reserved for crew members. He hoped to gain some information that might be useful once they arrived in Bali.

April and Illya were directed to their room, a comfortable suite with a bed that beckoned to the weary Russian. He hoped that April would offer no resistance to sharing the bed, having spotted a small settee in the sitting room. He was in no shape, or mood, to be unnecessarily chivalrous. She would just have to trust that he was, indeed, a gentleman.

Napoleon's room was adequate, comfortable. He was fortunate to have it to himself in spite of the second bed. Mr. Waverly had seen to it that no compromises to their security were made.

The three 'passengers' agreed to meet in the dining room, Mr. Waverly having also arranged the seating arrangements there. It was necessary to create a reason for them to be acquainted once they arrived in Bali, and a chance meeting aboard ship would serve the purpose.

Wardrobes were sent ahead of them, so that each one of them had appropriate clothing for their short voyage. Napoleon and Illya each had a tux, the evening meal being a formal affair. April had four evening dresses, one for each of the nights required during the five days of sailing.

It had been a bit of a rush getting from the airport to the Kowloon waterfront where the ship was preparing for departure. Passports were presented, directions given; the excitement was mixed with the usual measure of trepidation when embarking on a mission. April felt a surge of nausea begin to rise as she thought back to Survival School, then Paris. Now this, a strange world with people she hardly knew… her life was in their hands.

Napoleon recognized the signs of a new agent's turmoil. This was the life she had signed on for, but could never have imagined. He caught her eye and winked, then was relieved to see Illya put his arm around her shoulder as though sensing the same things. This young woman was a solitary figure in UNCLE's new policy; the first female agent. The only female agent, thus far.

At five o'clock in the afternoon the SS Rotterdam pulled up anchor, started her engines and began the next part of her journey. It would be an historic last voyage before entering a complete refitting later in the year.

Dinner was served at seven o'clock in the Grand Dining Room. The tables were set for eight people, three couples and two single travelers. Napoleon's cover as a travel journalist was an easy fit, after all he did travel the world for a living. The other single person at the table was a young woman who was enjoying the cruise as the winner of a contest sponsored by a large New York travel agency. Her diary of the experience would become part of an advertising campaign. It seemed a fortuitous circumstance that she should be sharing the table with a travel writer. Napoleon thought the coincidence not quite convincing.

The two couples at the table were sociable, older than the other four. Madelyn and Roger Durning were from Savannah, Georgia; Delilah and Neville Cheswick had boarded the ship in New York after flying over from England. They were happy to hear Illya's accent, and immediately launched into questions about his origins. Once again Napoleon wondered about the coincidental nature of these pairings. There would be considerable discussion about all of these things later in the evening.

Much to Illya's delight, the food was as fabulous as advertised. Even his shorn head could not deflate his enjoyment of the sumptuous meal before him. April thought watching Illya eat was one of the sexiest things about him.

"Here, you must try this stuffed shrimp darling." He cut a piece from his appetizer and directed the fork towards April's mouth. Surprised at the familiarity of the gesture, she opened wide and was fed the scrumptious morsel.

"Oh my, that is delicious. Thank you darling." April resisted the impulse to kiss him, but Illya sensed the spark that he hoped was evident to the others. It was the role they were playing, after all.

"Say, how long have you two been married?" Napoleon intervened, it was time to set these identities in motion. He didn't know who these people were, but if any of them were THRUSH then the game needed to be on.

April grinned, then turned to Illya. "We've been married for exactly one year. Our anniversary is tomorrow." Illya kissed her on the cheek then, exactly on cue.

"Oh, that is so sweet. What an elegant way to celebrate, here on the high seas." Delilah seemed quite taken with the couple, especially with the blue-eyed husband named Nick.

April caught it, that subtle undertone of covetousness that a woman sensed when her man was on another woman's radar.

"We thought so, and it seemed so exciting, sort of a second honeymoon. Although, I don't think the first one has ever ended." And then she kissed Illya, full on the mouth. Whoever this Delilah was, she needed to know that Nick belonged to her.

"My darling Rita, to us." Illya raised his glass to toast his 'wife', aware of the look passing between Delilah and Neville.

"Hear, hear, and cheers." Napoleon had seen it too.

It seemed the games would begin at sea.


	4. Chapter 4

After dinner it was agreed upon to explore the ship, not an unusual activity for the passengers. Illya and April excused themselves with glib comments about dancing the night away, while Napoleon chatted with his table mate, the contest winner. Her name was Cynthia Evans, a pleasant enough young woman, a blonde with brown eyes that, upon close inspection, betrayed the unnatural color of her hair.

That wasn't enough to pique Napoleon's suspicions about her, but something was off. He didn't think she was THRUSH, but something niggled at his brain in a way he wouldn't be able to push aside.

The dining room was beginning to empty as guests assumed the schedule of entertainment presented for them. Delilah and Neville decided that dancing in the Grand Ballroom appealed to them, as it had to Nick and Rita Ramsay, aka Illya and April. Napoleon bade them a good evening, alert to the nuances between them that might indicate something more than a marital relationship.

Madelyn and Roger Durning remained at the table, eager it seemed to engage the handsome American in conversation. Cynthia was not talkative, but somehow Napoleon sensed that she was taking in every detail of the night. Something about her made him fairly certain that the story of being a lucky contest winner was nothing to do with luck.

As the wait staff cleared tables under the glistening chandeliers, Roger Durning took out a silver cigarette case, opening it to show a row of Benson & Hedge; Napoleon's brand.

"Care for a smoke?" It was a casual invitation, but the underlying tone sent a chill up Napoleon's back. Madelyn seemed to tense slightly, then announced she was going in search of the ladies' room.

"Care to join me Cynthia?" The faux blonde looked surprised but recovered quickly enough.

"Oh, well, yes. I think I could do with a little, um… yes. Thank you." The two women rose from their chairs and left the men to their cigarettes. Napoleon watched them as the crossed the room, dodging tables and waiters. This was a set up, he had no doubt of it.

"So, traveling alone and writing about what? The cruise, the destinations?" Durning took a drag on his cigarette, blowing a perfect smoke ring while never taking his eyes off of Napoleon.

"That's the job. What about you? What keeps you occupied when you're not cruising around the world?" This little dance wouldn't last as long as the one in the ballroom. Napoleon already knew what this fellow did for a living, he could sense it.

"Listen Mr. Solo, I don't know what you're doing on board this pleasure boat, and I sure as hell don't know how you're connected to that couple…" Napoleon smiled at the obvious fishing expedition.

"What couple would that be?" Durning took another drag before crushing the half burned cigarette in the crystal ashtray. Napoleon took note of the slight bulge in the immaculately tailored tuxedo.

"You know I'm talking about the fellow with the fake British accent. The one whose real home is the USSR. Your uncle doesn't have any business in Bali, or Jakarta… Stay out of trouble Mr. Solo. We can't protect you, and we won't protect _him_."

Napoleon crushed his cigarette and smiled at the threat he was hearing. CIA on board. That was interesting.

"Why don't we just agree to stay out of each other's way. We have our own agenda, and I doubt very much that it has anything to do with whatever you're after. As for my friend, since you seem to have identified us both, he is an UNCLE agent, which means that is his only interest. If you touch him you'll have me to deal with, and I don't think you'll want to add that to whatever you're into."

Napoleon saw Madelyn and Cynthia out of the corner of his vision. He stood up to welcome them back, bidding them a 'good evening' as he left them at the table. He was aware of them conversing, amiably and with a degree of familiarity that betrayed something to his keen observation. The knew each other, were undoubtedly all CIA operatives.

As Napoleon was leaving the dining room, April and Illya were already heading towards their stateroom. The plan was to meet with Mark and Napoleon in order to trade observations, share whatever information may have been obtained. They'd only been onboard for nine hours, so expectations were limited.

Mark let himself into their room and waited for the others. Dressed as he was in a stewards attire, no one paid attention to his presence in the passageway as he knocked and then opened the door as though speaking to someone.

April and Illya arrived a few minutes later, still in character as the loving couple, Nick and Rita Ramsay. They were aware of being watched and then followed, probably the Cheswicks. Illya was fairly certain that they were involved in some sort of espionage, he hadn't quite figured out for whose side yet. In an effort to put them off at least a little, after opening their stateroom door Illya swept April up into his arms in order to carry her into the room. He miscalculated the damage to his rib, faltering slightly but determined to not drop her in plain view of whoever was watching them. He kicked the door shut behind him and then collapsed onto the bed with her still in his arms, his face ashen from the pain.

"Illya, what on earth? Oh my god, you've damaged yourself." April's surprise was now mixed with concern as Mark appeared to help her off the bed.

"Say mate, you should be more careful with this act of yours.' Mark winced in sympathy as he held out a hand to help Illya sit up.

"Who were you performing for?" He realized that Illya wouldn't have acted that way if he weren't doing it for someone else's benefit.

"I … ahhow, _chyort!_ ' The pain took his breath away.

"I think the Cheswicks were watching us. I caught a glimpse of Neville a few passageways back." April had gone into the bathroom to retrieve some aspirin. She didn't know what else to do.

"Here Illya, take some aspirin, at least dull down the pain." He accepted the pills and a glass of water, downing them quickly.

Mark was looking around the room, whistled an admiring tune as he compared it to his own meager quarters.

"This is nice. I have to say, I envy you just a bit. All I've got is a bunk and a lavatory, and barely enough room to get dressed." April took his arm and held on tight. She missed being with her partner, wished he could be closer to them during this voyage.

A knock at the door had Mark up and playing the steward's role in earnest.

"Good evening Mr. Solo. Please come in." Napoleon nodded, took in the room as he began the ritual of checking for 'bugs'. One by one the others joined the search until they were satisfied the room was clean. Turning to face his team, he began…

"We have a problem."


	5. Chapter 5

It didn't take long for the quartet of agents to all converge around the assumption that the American couple, and Cynthia, were all CIA. Illya's suspicions about the Cheswicks added to the intrigue, and posed more questions than answers concerning this trip to Bali.

The room was equipped with a wet bar that was well stocked, so Napoleon set upon mixing martinis for everyone. The conversation continued to flow around the consumption of alcohol, creating an ease among them that subdued the tension they each felt.

"What do you know about Bali, about Indonesia for that matter?" Napoleon was looking at Illya, but he welcomed a response for any of them. The Russian in the room knew about as much as anyone else, although his perspective was different, less naive perhaps.

"The mindset is moderately inclined to revolution, inasmuch as the current conditions still reflect much of what was left by the Dutch ruling class. The Balinese people are invested in things related to religion and nature, much of it reflected in their art which has become a primary source of income via tourism.' The others were listening, taking mental notes as Illya spoke.

"In an effort to elevate the culture of Bali within their quest for increased tourism, a new term was created; _pariwisata,_ a Sanskritized term meaning 'fulfilled journey'. The idea of cultural tourism is how the Balinese are projecting themselves into the experience they invite tourists to engage in."

April was impressed that Illya should have this information so easily at hand.

"I like the idea of pariwisata, or a fulfilled journey. It sounds more worthwhile than simply seeing the sights."

"Why do you think the CIA and, whoever the Cheswicks work for, are interested? I'm not aware of any political turmoil, outside of some communist activists who seem to live amiably with their neighbors." Napoleon knew there had to be something motivating outside interests; intelligence agencies didn't vacation.

"I think the Cheswicks are probably MI6." Mark let that sink in before continuing.

"I delivered something to their stateroom and was met by the Missus, and I caught a glimpse of a dossier folder, and I know where it came from; I've dealt with MI6 before, held one of those in my hand."

That made everyone sit back and consider the ramifications of two separate intelligence operations besides their own, all heading for Bali.

"Illya, Roger Durning made mention of you, he knows you're a Soviet citizen. Watch your back partner." Illya nodded. He'd been doing it for years, why should it be different on the high seas?

"What are they doing here?" April was stumped, but then she knew little about Bali, or Indonesia in general. It didn't seem likely that the Vietnam Conflict was a contributing factor here.

"I think that's something we'll have to investigate ourselves. Mr. Waverly is sending us some updates on the THRUSH activity, and how it might be related to anything political on Bali. There is apparently a rumble concerning a possible coup, but it seems unlikely. Sukarno has the rhetoric of a revolutionary, has ambitions of aligning with Red China and maintaining the political balance of nationalist, communist and religious parties. He's holding everyone in check by endorsing and affirming all of it.''

"That is a very erudite observation, Napoleon. I do not know that it will hold up with the army, it is not as content with the status quo as the other branches of the military under Sukarno's leadership." Illya seemed to have some insight into the situation.

"How do you know this?" April was curious, and wondered why the rest of them didn't have this insider point of view.

"I hear things, and I know that the communist party is hoping to raise its standard and gain the majority in Jakarta and Bali. Whether or not the numbers are accurate though…' He paused, was hesitant to sound critical of his own government.

"I believe that in Bali, as in other countries where the Party is legal, some are … coercion is sometimes a tool.' Should he elaborate? He decided it was necessary.

"Say, for instance, that the company you work for is owned by a member of the Party. You might be encouraged to join in order to ensure that you are able to remain employed. An entire workforce may join, whether they agree with the tenants of communism or not."

Napoleon looked thoughtful, recognizing that Illya was shedding an unflattering light on the system he identified with.

"So, do you think perhaps that American and British… um… let's call them entities; do you think they are interested in diminishing the presence of the Communist Party in Bali, and Jakarta?" Illya didn't want to be the one to point a finger at either government. He trusted the people in the room, but his allegiance to his homeland was necessarily a part of his make up, his sense of integrity. He was Russian, and he did not wish to engage in something that required making a choice based on nationality.

Mark wasn't going to be reticent about what he thought, he recognized Illya's hesitancy, and understood it.

"I think we're dealing with spooks, that they're headed to Bali to either undermine the communist movement or undergird the nationalists, or both. We're there to stop THRUSH. The two don't have to intersect. Do they?" He looked at Napoleon, expecting their CEA to have an answer.

Napoleon took a sip of his martini, stood up and headed back to the wet bar to pour another one. The cool blue interior of the room belied the hot topic of conversation that permeated it now. They had a CIA team with three people, a British contingency representing MI6. The only people they hadn't encountered, which were the focus of UNCLE's business here, was THRUSH.

"We have a few days onboard this ship, no way out and no other allies to back us up. I say we stick close together, keep our eyes and ears open to anything that looks suspicious, and enjoy a couple of days by the pool. I don't think anyone will make a move on us, they have no reason to do so." Napoleon took another sip of his drink.

"Anyone for another round?"


	6. Chapter 6

On the second day onboard the SS Rotterdam, four UNCLE agents were going about the business of enjoying a few days of leisure, with the occasional glimpse past normal looking passengers to the semi-covert movements of the other spies at sea.

The suggestion that Illya could assume the role of someone recuperating from an accident was entered into with enthusiasm and an unparalleled attitude of complete laziness. He willingly allowed stewards to bring him food and drinks while taking in the sun as he slept poolside. April was at his side in the double chaise, still intent on keeping the appearance of a happy couple sailing to Bali for nothing more than romance.

Napoleon had occasion to linger at the pool as well, entertaining a curvaceous blonde whose daring bikini was more engaging than her conversation. Mark continued to play the part of a ship's steward, listening and watching for anything that might indicate THRUSH was also onboard.

As the ship drew nearer to Bali, there were announcements of tours and lists of popular destinations for those interested in art or cultural performances, such as the Legong Kraton, the _dance of the royal palace_. Featuring young girls meticulously trained for the role, it was the most well known of Bali's exotic dances, documented by the myriad photographs that would find their way into travel journals around the world.

Most of the travelers onboard the glamorous ship would continue to more ports of call, but for the UNCLE agents and their CIA and MI6 counterparts, Bali was the only port of interest. With bags packed and a considerable arsenal between them, the artistes _d'espionnage_ disembarked into their various pursuits on the island of Bali.

The day was warm already as the queue began to form on the lower deck of the ship. The way onto the island was via the tenders lined up in the harbor awaiting passengers. Illya felt his stomach lurch in anticipation of the ride to shore. He had felt fine aboard the big ship, no sign of his usual proclivity towards being seasick. The tender would be another thing, however.

Napoleon was very familiar with his partner's sensitive stomach, remembered well the greenish hue to Illya's complexion prior to boarding Shark's infamous ship of fools.

"How're you doing Illya?" Napoleon's inquiry made him even more aware of the probability of getting sick on the trip to shore.

"I shall endure it in hopes of it being a very short voyage.'' He sighed heavily as he and April were helped aboard the tender boat, Napoleon a step behind them.

The dock at Benoa proved to be challenging, with people crowding onto the landing as they were herded towards buses and shouting tourist guides. Illya, April and Napoleon managed to find their way to an area where jeeps painted a garish yellow color advertised the destination the trio had traveled to see, _Club de Vacances._

 _"_ There, over there, those yellow jeeps. That must be for us." April tugged on Illya's arm to hurry him along, shouting back at Napoleon to follow them. The threesome arrived at the curb where three jeeps were parked, ready for the drive south to Jimbaran. Mark would be coming along later, after finishing up his duties aboard ship.

Napoleon surveyed the surroundings; a collection of shops and food stands, several restaurants, people on bicycles going about their daily routines. The air smelled of pungent spices and the odors caused from too many bodies affected by the heat and humidity. It would be good to be away from it sooner than later, he thought, remembering Illya's comment to him in Terbuf about being so _obviously American._

Illya was conversing with one of the drivers, pointing in the direction they would be traveling. He turned as Napoleon approached, offering the information he had already gathered.

"We're waiting for some people who are also going to our spot. Do you want to wager on who that might be?" Napoleon had assumed it might be the case.

"You mean our CIA and MI6 acquaintances? Could be, but why would they be interested in THRUSH? They're usually content to leave the Hierarchy to us unless the target is something of theirs."

Illya wiped the perspiration that had gathered on his forehead. He had the beginnings of a tan from the days lounging by the pool. Napoleon thought he looked rested now, hopefully ready for what lay ahead of them.

"Perhaps they aren't here for THRUSH…' Napoleon frowned at the implication.

"My name did come up, did it not?" Illya wasn't worried, only concerned that it could hamper their mission on Bali.

"Mr. Waverly has addressed that subject with Langley and the Powers That Be in London. No, I don't think it's you they're after."

April ducked into a small shop after ascertaining that there was a delay in their departure. Inside she found several items of interest, including a carving of a bird that she didn't think was indigenous to the island. Stepping back out into the sunlight, she headed directly towards Napoleon and Illya.

"In case we weren't sure about THRUSH being on the island, look what I discovered." She pulled out the carving and held it up for the men to see.

"The shopkeeper says one of the local artists has begun carving these birds, staining them with indigo and morinda to achieve a nearly black color. She said the bird sculptures represent an evil spirit that has come to steal the ocean."

That had the effect she knew it would. But what did it mean?


	7. Chapter 7

Aprilʼs discovery regarding the black bird carving and the shop ownerʼs remarks about stealing the ocean had the three agents on alert. THRUSH was on Bali, hidden in plain sight as in so many other schemes.

Snooping around in the shops would have to be another day, for now they needed to take the jeep rides and get settled in the vacation village. As expected, the waiting jeeps were for other couples, but not the ones they had encountered on board the ship. Was it out of the question to think that there were more agents from the CIA and MI6, possibly the people now climbing into the yellow jeeps?

The ride to _ was bumpy in places, offering a view of the coast that ambled in and out of trees and small houses that dotted the roadside. They were heading towards another fishing village that would be their ʻnative experienceʼ, according to the brochure. The trip was about forty minutes, longer than most people would want to endure in an open jeep. Aprilʼs hair was captured beneath an orange scarf that. with the large sunglasses she wore, made Napoleon think she resembled the Presidentʼs wife, Mrs. Kennedy. Then again, behind those big sunglasses almost anyone could pass for the young First Lady.

The sun was just beginning to settle atop the horizon as the jeeps turned onto an unpaved road and headed towards the beach. Several small buildings came into view, with thatched roofs and gauzy looking fabric billowing in the afternoon breezes. As they drew nearer it was clear that the buildings were small bungalows, Balinese style, situated atop poles that were burrowed into the sand.

"Is that where weʼre staying?" April was at first surprised and then intrigued. They looked to be far enough beyond the tide line to avoid being washed out to sea, but what an experience it would be to sleep in one of these odd rooms.

"I would say yes, although I cannot for the life of me understand why anyone would want to." Illya was not yet charmed by the surroundings. Napoleon was taking it all in, already trying to figure out a strategy for finding the THRUSH installation while appearing to be a free spirited vacationer.

The jeeps pulled up in front of what appeared to be a main lodge that was situated in the middle of the row of bungalows. Each room, or bungalow, was about fifty yards from the next one, with the lodge in the center; there were five bungalows on either side of it.

There was no denying the allure of this location, each bungalow had an ocean view. It was also significant that the space between each of them allowed for a degree of privacy, in spite of the open air design.

The jeeps pulled up in a line at the lodge. The passengers were invited to step into the artfully designed building that would serve as concierge and bar. Checking in was accomplished as Napoleon kept an ear open while the other guests registered. He didnʼt believe for an instant that some other agency wouldnʼt have come along to monitor the UNCLE agents, or Illya.

"Mr. and Mrs. James Delmont,ʼ the first couple looked innocuous in their Midwestern clothing.  
"We are here to go native!" The man, James, was loud and slightly uncouth, based on that exclamation. That alone made Napoleon think he wasnʼt what he was intending to portray. The concierge agent was polite but reserved in his manner; heʼd probably been accosted by rude foreigners more times than he cared to remember.

" _Jimmy, please keep it down. We donʼt know these people."_

Maybe not CIA. She seemed genuinely embarrassed.

The second couple were less boisterous but appeared to be friendly. The accent put them somewhere in the British Isles.

"Welsh perhaps, by the sound of it.ʼ Illya had caught part of their conversation.

Napoleon had to smile at his partnerʼs keen ear. I guess that was part of why he was so gifted in languages.

"Do they seem like MI6?"

"Hard to say, it will take some socializing perhaps to get a better view of things." Illya knew that would be his and Aprilʼs assignment. Infiltrating couples was something for which he was gaining considerable skills, something he found peculiar; he seemed to always be the one posing as a husband to an agent or an innocent. Napoleon was left free to investigate among the more suspicious looking, beautiful women.

Funny how that worked out.

After the reception in the bar everyone was anxious to see their rooms, so pleasantries were exchanged as they headed out towards their individual bungalows. Napoleon spotted a woman in the bar who seemed vaguely familiar. He caught up to Illya and April and told them heʼd seen a THRUSH agent named Sharon Landers.

The last time he saw her was during a mission that put Illya in the hospital during an affair** in which they investigated an occurrence of spontaneous combustion. The man Illya had been escorting was consumed by a fire, the explosion from which had sent the Russian hurtling into a tree. The eventual conclusion of that mission was intercepted by the beautiful Sharon Landers, a THRUSH agent neither of them had encountered again, until now.

Illya had little recollection of the woman, he'd been mostly unconscious while Napoleon established a sort of quasi relationship with her. It was actually thanks to her forthrightness that some of the mystery involved in that unfortunate affair had come to light, settling some of Illya's discomfort with what had become of Dr. Wilhelm Droeste.

"Are you certain it is Sharon Landers?" April wasn't familiar with the mission in question, but she wondered once again how many times Kuryakin could suffer injury and come back to serve. She worried about him, in spite of the knowledge that this was their life's work and therefore, an unending series of risks.

Napoleon considered the question.

"Yes, absolutely. And if she's here in Bali…"

"Proof positive, I'd say." Illya was right. THRUSH was here, and the presence of Miss Landers in combination with the information April had obtained meant they had no time to waste.

"I'll handle Miss Landers. She probably saw me, I have no doubts about her effectiveness as an agent. You two get settled in, I think I'll go back to the bar and see about our little bird."

With that the three went their separate ways. Illya and April had housekeeping arrangements to make, including a sweep of their room for bugs not indigenous to the island.

Napoleon headed back to the bar to hopefully spend some time with Sharon Landers. It was not an entirely unpleasant prospect.

**A Questionable End


	8. Chapter 8

Mark was due to arrive later in the evening, after he had finished up onboard the ship. There had been little information gleaned from the crew, even less from the passengers. Keeping an eye on the two spy couples the UNCLE agents had encountered proved less than informative, so that Slate felt his time as a steward had been nothing more than a missed opportunity to sail in style with his friends.

Napoleon bade Illya and April a good night and headed back to the lodge. He was intent on finding Sharon Landers, was anxious to find out more about the THRUSH activities and hopeful she might give him a few answers. He was also looking forward to seeing her again for more personal reasons.

The clouds on the horizon were taking on a pink glow as sunset began to shroud the island. The trade winds of summer would soon churn the waves, beckoning surfers to Bali from all over the globe. For some the surfing craze was merely a by-product of Hollywood movies depicting zany teenagers and summer romances. To the hardcore, the journey from beach to beach was a migration of the faithful, an almost religious zeal for a sport not as yet at the level of respect it would attain in coming years.

Napoleon, sans his normal suit and tie, arrived at the lodge wearing light grey trousers and a yellow polo shirt. He had gained a tan easily aboard ship, the benefits of sailing on the open sea. The effect was not lost on Sharon Landers as she watched him enter the bar, glad that he had returned and that there were no others close by; unsure about what might come next. She turned back towards the beach and watched the sun as it began its descent beneath the horizon.

It only took a minute to spot her just beyond the double doors that opened onto a large lanai. The setting sun sparkled on the water, creating a colorful backdrop for the beautiful brunette that reminded Napoleon of something out of a Disney animated movie.

Sharon's hair was casually pinned on top of her head, wisps falling around her face in an effortless manner, yet somehow very artfully arranged. Styled in this way, the effect of a backless linen dress was made even more beguiling. Napoleon felt his pulse quicken as he followed the outline of her body beneath the lightweight fabric, noting with satisfaction that the expanse of exposed skin indicated the absence of a brassiere, therefore the absence of at least one obstacle to what he now envisioned as a pleasurable encounter. Napoleon Solo had no qualms about doing whatever might be asked of him, for the sake of the mission.

Sharon turned towards Napoleon just as he was approaching, struck once more by his good looks and confident demeanor. This was a man she could find interesting, if only there weren't those pesky conflicts of interest.

"My goodness, if it isn't Mr. Napoleon Solo… in the flesh." She had a feeling those pesky conflicts of interest were only going to make things more interesting.

"Good evening Miss Landers.'' He took her right hand in his, lifting it to his lips for a kiss that lingered as his eyes locked on hers. Both of their pulses were racing now. This had nothing to do with spies or secrets, only the chemistry between two beautiful people in a setting made for romance.

A racing heart made her voice breathy, something not lost on Napoleon. He couldn't think of a good reason to not do what happened next. Effortlessly, his hands encircled around her waist, pulling her close to him. She offered no resistance as he kissed her, sighed with satisfaction when his fingers slipped inside the open back of her dress, moving around her body, seeking out more of her. She pulled back slightly to look in his eyes, then whispered to him, her breath hot on his ear.

"Don't you think we ought to find a place with a little more privacy?" Napoleon smiled, kissed her again before lifting her up into his arms and carrying her out onto the sand.

"Which way is your place?" She pointed him towards it, glad for the feel of his arms around her and the success of reeling him in so easily. She would enjoy this night that she had dreamt of since their first meeting.

Business could wait until morning.


	9. Chapter 9

The morning brought new intrigues to the UNCLE agents lives. As Napoleon lounged on the lanai of Sharon's hidden bungalow he was startled to hear her tell of the change in allegiances she had recently undergone.

"You're what?" It took a lot to make Napoleon Solo genuinely surprised, he had seen too much in his line of work to let human behavior shock or alarm him, except the most inhumane actions; one never got used to that.

"I changed sides, sweetie. I'm working for the Company now." Sharon had looked forward to sharing this with Solo; she assumed it would put them on the same side, that he would be glad for it.

"You're with the CIA now? How on earth did that happen?' He wondered if it was a change of heart, of conscience or…

"Are they paying you more?" That was a low blow, and he was immediately sorry.

"I..I'm sorry. I didn't mean it, it's just that… Wow, from THRUSH to the CIA. Sharon darling… You saw the light?"

Sharon could have been insulted or hurt, or both. But facing facts, it was THRUSH she had left, and done so with her life intact. Of course people would wonder how, and why.

"Napoleon, you were there with me when the whole spontaneous combustion issue was going on, with your partner seriously injured…' She sighed at the recollection of how helpless she felt, and how disgusted she had been with the outcome of that horrible concoction.

"I got into THRUSH without knowing what they truly are. I have no other explanation, and once you're in…"

"I know. And I am glad that you're out of it, I guess I just didn't ever expect to hear that you're a CIA agent now. Come here…" Napoleon took her in his arms and held her, kissing her gently.

"So I need to ask you this; why are you here?" Bali was becoming quite the breeding ground for intrigue and covert agents.

"Same as you sweetie. Something is going on here and I'm going to find out what it is. The Agency thinks that THRUSH is infiltrating native groups in a move that is politically motivated. There's trouble brewing with the military, and it's possible that the Hierarchy is placing its own people in position to mount a coup of some sort."

That didn't track with the trail he and the others were following, based on what they had heard in town, about the ocean being stolen. He released the hold he'd had her in and stepped back a little. The jungle around them was buzzing with the sounds of morning, and pungent floral aromas cascaded into the open room.

"Bizarre…' Napoleon's voice was barely above a whisper as he contemplated that strange clue, the carved bird and nonsensical stuff…''

"You're muttering, what's wrong?" Sharon was ready to share what she knew about the situation, to work with Napoleon and his team. She closed the distance between them, stroking his arm for reassurance; she was on his side now.

Napoleon had been surprised to see Sharon in the bar, assuming she was there representing THRUSH. But, had she been surprised to see him?

"You knew I was going to be here." It was a statement. If Napoleon was good at anything, it was strategy and figuring out other people's schemes. The look on Sharon's face told him what he needed to know.

"Why the charade? Why not just tell me and let us get on with the business of stopping THRUSH?" He was on the edge of being angry with the beautiful _former enemy agent._ Geez, sometimes he hated being in this business.

"Why? Because I wanted last night Napoleon. I didn't want anything else in the way of having you, just like we were without anything else between us." That was the truth. Suddenly sorry for the obvious lie, Sharon put her hands on his face, drew close enough to kiss him. Napoleon drew back, taking her hands in his as he lowered them to her side.

"No, not like this. Not now… I need to get back and talk to my people.' He wasn't sure why he was reacting like this, but he felt …

"You used me. God, I never thought it would bother me but, it does Sharon. You should have told me. Did you take over the job of watching me and… Are you keeping an eye on Illya? Have you taken over from that couple aboard the ship? Is he on your radar?"

Napoleon was getting madder the more he talked. He knew a little about the politics here in Indonesia, knew that the communist party was actively pursuing power. If the CIA thought that Kuryakin was here to help push that agenda forward then UNCLE needed to protect him.

"I'm going back now. We'll talk later, but for now I need to confer with _my_ colleagues." Sharon's expression reflected the change in Napoleon, the surprise of him being offended by her lack of honesty.

''I'm so sorry, I never thought you'd be … I didn't want to hurt you or deceive you Napoleon. And no, I'm not after Illya, he has never been a part of my assignment here. Please believe me.'' Why this man mattered so much to her was unexplainable, but from the moment she met him there had been a connection, and last night was proof of that.

"Look Sharon, I just need to go and be on the job with my partner and the other two members of our team. We'll talk about this, we'll … I loved being with you last night. That was all very real for me."

He leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. That would have to be it for now, maybe forever.


	10. Chapter 10

Illya and April managed to get through the night with relative ease. One bed meant sharing the space, as much to allay suspicion from the maid service as anything else. They each had suspicions about a mutual attraction, but maintained a professional distance, literally, during the night.

Illya was awake at the break of dawn and decided to take advantage of the morning waves, heading down to the water with a surfboard in tow. It was another of the Russian's many skills, the ability to surf. He hedged his secrets against the many needs encountered in the line of duty, and here on Bali it would be an inroad to several factions among the islanders.

It wasn't necessary to wear a wetsuit here, so the blond wore only his swim trunks as he paddled out into open water. He paddled towards three young men, also waiting, as he intended to do, for the first wave of the morning. It was exhilarating to be out here, the first real thrill Illya had encountered on this mission. He was finally feeling recovered from the previous mission's brutalities thanks to days onboard the liner. Now he was tan and fit, and felt as though the days ahead would be better than he at first imagined. What was not difficult to imagine was how Napoleon had spent his first night in Bali, something that cast his thoughts back to April. It was a momentary flash of something that he quelled as quickly as it came upon him.

" _Swasiastu_.' Illya hailed the trio of young men in Balinese, following up with a question.

 _"Bapa bisa basa Inggris?"_

They all answered in the affirmative, greeting the new surfer in English.

"Yes, yes we do. Are you from the big ship?" The tourism in Bali had become an important business for the locals, and thankfully these three were not opposed to having visitors in their waters.

"I am, arrived here late yesterday. I have been looking forward to getting into the water though, instead of simply sailing." That seemed to please them, a fellow surfer from someplace distant.

"Where are you from?" The fellow nearest Illya was eyeing him with interest, probably aware of the accent. This one was not American.

"Originally, I am Russian. But, I have travelled and been in school in other countries." That seemed to intrigue them, but a wave was breaking behind them and all conversation stopped.

As the wave pulled up from beneath them it thundered in, lifting the boards and the riders up and over the water as each one of them stood up and gained his balance. Illya didn't see that April was no watching from the beach, his concentration was entirely on keeping himself on his board alongside the other three surfers. His form was good, but he lacked what the others had, being born to this and raised in the waters as they grew up and gained their expertise.

April was impressed, even as she saw Illya go first into the water, his feet flailing as he was tumbled beneath the wave. Her intake of breath wasn't fear, but she did hold it until the blond head popped up near the edge of the water as it lapped the shore. She ran towards him then, laughing as he tried to stand but was knocked down again by a second wave.

"Hey there, how's the ride?" She was near enough now to see that he was indeed fine, his tan visible above the white of his buttocks where his trunks had slid down from the water pulling at them. He hitched them up and turned to see the redhead smiling at him.

"That's impressive so early in the morning." April thought Illya Kuryakin was perhaps the sexiest man she had ever known, or seen. He was tan from the days onboard ship. His hair, shorter than usual after having had it shorn several weeks ago, was bleached lighter than normal.

His muscular definition was usually hidden beneath clothing that seemed to indicate a man of such slight build that one never suspected the strength he possessed. It was part of his magic, the subterfuge of his appearance. She thought he was beautiful in the first light of the day.

Illya quickly took stock of his 'bride'. April's hair was slightly tousled, and she was wearing a colorful pareo; she had obviously tied it around her in a hurry in order to get outside and watch him surfing.

"Hello gorgeous!" The uncharacteristically cheerful greeting was accompanied by a kiss. While it surprised April and delighted her simultaneously, he was whispering to her that they needed to keep up appearances. Well, if that's the way he wanted to play it…

April let the kiss linger and then pulled him in closer until she felt him against her, obviously responding to the encounter. It was enough, for now.


	11. Chapter 11

Illya released his hold on April slowly as he mentally tossed away the temptation to pick her up and carry her back to their bungalow to explore this fascination they held for each other.

"I forget, are we Nick and Rita, or Illya and April?" He pushed away a strand of hair that was dangling in front of her eye, kissed her on the forehead and casually waived goodbye to the other surfers he'd spoken to out on the water. It was difficult for Illya to surrender himself to the idea of pursuing April Dancer, knew that it would violate any number of tenants of professional ethics within the Command. She was young; younger than he by at least ten years.

Perhaps that was part of the attraction. She was less tainted by their profession, less cynical. April had the ability to brighten a room with her buoyant personality and effervescence. She was everything he was not in this life, and that made him want to be with her.

April let him lead her back to their place, felt her heart racing with anticipation of what she could only hope was his intention. The question of names was not her priority.

"I think we're registered as Nick and Rita Ramsay. Funny how that detail seems to have slipped our minds. Do you think there's something to that?" She did. She thought perhaps that was the only way they might justify intimacy, if they were someone else.

Illya was following the same pattern of thought, and as much as he hated to, he rejected it as reason enough for him to start breaking rules.

"April…' Having reached the lanai on the front of their bungalow, he lifted her up onto it and spoke to her from the sand below it.

"We cannot afford to lose sight of our purpose here, our duty to perform at the highest level of integrity. Our act must be that, a performance for the benefit of those watching, if indeed anyone is watching us. Do you understand why I'm saying this?" He hoped so, fervently. He needed her to be alert and professional, able to have his back should the need arise, without any emotional interference.

His expression was not stern, rather it had the look of someone speaking to a child; soft and expressive.

April straighter up and looked beyond him to the ocean. Waves were breaking on the shore as more surfers populated the water, waiting and riding…

"I understand perfectly. I promise to behave myself Mr. Kuryakin. I apologize if I have overstepped the boundaries of our _performance_."

Why did she say it like that? Grow up April! This is a job, he is your partner in this job and … She thought she might throw up.

"April, please understand I am trying to protect you, us… the mission. I couldn't bear it if anything happened to you because I …" There it was, he might mess up if they were too close. He might miss something, it would be his fault. April caught the micro expression that betrayed his own emotional state, and it made her own heart beat a little faster.

"I know Illya, I know. I understand and I'm sorry for… Sometimes I act spoiled rotten, don't I." That made him smile, and they both knew that, if and when the time came, it wouldn't be where either of them would be endangered because of it.

"On duty, cross my heart." She made the gesture of crossing her heart, but it wasn't to close it off. She was more enamored of him now than before.

As had been agreed, all four UNCLE agents were to meet for breakfast in the lodge. Mark had gotten in late the night before, so this would be his first time with the others here at the Village. Napoleon was there already when he arrived. The scene with Sharon had been on his mind all morning, and now he needed to inform the others of this new kink in the situation they were facing.

The truth was, Napoleon was nowhere regarding this affair. Bali was both a tourist mecca and a political hotbed of conflicting forces. Indonesia was unstable, China was wooing them with promises of military support and financial stability. Communism in this place was not the Stalinist version, although the Soviet Union had no qualms about supporting their cause if it would ultimately serve the USSR purposes. A revolution in paradise seemed so contradictory, Napoleon had trouble envisioning the scenario.

When April and Illya walked in it was to the sight of two heads bowed in serious conversation, as though avoiding all others in the room.

"Hello darlings, are we all good this morning?" April was ready to start the day off with a positive attitude, and she was so glad to see Mark. He rose to greet her, giving her a hug worthy of their friendship. It seemed the facade of their roles here was fading fast.

"Napoleon, you look rather worse off than I would have imagined." Illya noted the change in his partner's demeanor; the recognizable pallor of disappointment was something with which he was very familiar.

"I have some interesting news, a peculiar change…' He looked around the table at his friends, hoping he didn't betray his own emotional state regarding Sharon's deception.

"Miss Landers is no longer with THRUSH." He waited, wondered if anyone might venture to guess the rest of his news.

"Well, that's good, right?" April thought her boss seemed less than happy about something as positive as getting out of THRUSH.

Illya's expression became stern, his jaw twitched slightly. "She has switched sides?" Napoleon nodded, his eyes on the Russian as Illya slowly allowed the formation of an idea.

"CIA?"

"Yep."

April and Mark exchanged looks before settling back on Napoleon. What did this mean for them, they wondered.

"And she told you right away, or did you have to coerce the information from her?" Illya had to assume that there was an interest in the situation here on Bali, that it had nothing to do with him. Still, they had brought in someone who knew Napoleon, and knew him as well.

"She told me, although she waited until, um… " April colored slightly, she hadn't really thought of Napoleon's evening, but now she realized where he'd spent it.

"This morning?" She tried to convey to Napoleon that it was perfectly fine to refer to his romantic exploits in front of her. Well, sort of okay.

"Um, well… yes, this morning. She announced it as though I should be happy. And I was, considering she was out of THRUSH." Illya caught the hesitation.

"Do I hear a _but_?" Napoleon smiled at his partner's insight.

"Yes, ye me in the bar last night. It wasn't a surprise, she had me on her radar."

"And that means what? I don't think I understand." April sometimes hated that she was so new, that she didn't always get the undercurrents that never quite grabbed you and pulled you into the knowing parts of these intrigues. If she was CIA, then Sharon was still on their side of things. At least she wasn't THRUSH.

"What it means is that the Agency has it's eye on us as well as whatever is going on here in Bali. They were very succinct in pointing out that they knew Illya's background, and trust me, in the past they've not always played nice." Napoleon's sigh registered more than just frustration. He didn't have a plan of action. THRUSH was, so far, invisible. No one had them in their sights, and even though Sharon had sworn that was her mission on Bali, Napoleon was unsure of even that.

"I need to talk to Mr. Waverly, and I need you three to start looking for THRUSH, any sign of them or that suggestion that they're doing something to … I can't believe I'm saying this, _to steal the ocean_."

Breakfast came just then, a platter full of tropical fruits and a large crab and swiss omelette big enough for the four to share. A mango bread pudding was also brought to the table along with fresh pineapple juice and coffee. Illya was ready to dig into the feast, his morning workout had primed him for a big meal. The others followed suit, and for as long as their meal lasted, the conversation turned to less stringent topics.

At the end of breakfast, as the table mates all rose to leave, Napoleon had one last word of caution.

"Remember, THRUSH is no doubt here somewhere, doing something that we need to put an end to. But, with the CIA watching not only THRUSH, but us as well…"

"We'll be careful, and look both ways." Mark winked at the American, but his words didn't conceal a serious mind set on thwarting the enemy. Napoleon shot a look at Illya and April.

"I will if you will." The standard response from Illya, his concern for his partner no less than for himself.

"Okay then, let's meet back here for dinner and hopefully, we'll have something to talk about."

Everyone nodded their agreement as they headed out to prepare for the day ahead. No one saw Sharon Landers seated in the corner of the room behind a convenient palm. She just needed to figure out who to follow, and how much she would report to Roger Durning.


	12. Chapter 12

"I just don't buy it. That little Soviet pet of Waverly's is on a mission that has more to do with why we're here than some made up THRUSH scheme. I don't trust any of them, but him least of all." Roger Durning was an impatient man, anxious to rise in the ranks at Langley and not willing to be two steps behind a known Soviet. Not even UNCLE had a right to hide an enemy agent behind their smoke screen of _all for one, one for all_ nonsense.

Sharon Landers had changed course professionally, left behind the schemes and lunacy of THRUSH for a chance to help make the world safer, better.

"Roger, you brought me in because I have experience with THRUSH. Well, I know Solo and Kuryakin as well and trust me when I say that…"

"I don't have to trust you, or your motives or what you know about UNCLE or THRUSH… ' He took a deep breath, his head about to crack wide open if he didn't slow down and take some aspirin or, better yet, have a drink.

"That impetuous little liaison with Napoleon Solo..' He saw her blanch at the reference to her night with the American agent.

"Yeah, I know about it. Hell, with that place you have everyone could know about it. I hope you have something to report after spending a night with Kuryakin's partner.'' Durning was boring a hole through Sharon, daring her to _not_ have something to share that would confirm his suspicions about Illya Kuryakin.

She gathered her composure, reminding herself that she was trained to be a THRUSH agent, and could probably kill this man with little or no effort if she were to call on the skills she possessed.

"You're wrong. Illya Kuryakin is a Soviet on the record book, he's a Russian, and that's a different thing entirely." The look she got in return was one of incredulity.

"He is loyal to the Command, I've seen him near death because he was willing to give his life for Alexander Waverly's organization. He's loyal to a fault, and not to the Soviets. You've got it all wrong, and if that's an avenue you're set on following, you'll be disappointed." Roger Durning wanted someone to be at fault, needed to bring in the head of an enemy agent. If Landers was right about Kuryakin, he'd just find someone else.

"Okay, so maybe I'm starting to believe you. If it isn't him, then who are we after here? Sukarno is turning to Red China and the Soviet Union, and someone has to be helping him out of sight of the military." Sharon sat down on a rattan settee that was flanked by two palms. An open window let the ocean breezes cross the room, the salty aroma cleansing it of the stale cigarette smoke that Durning continued to blow into the air. He was tasked with stopping this, finding the conduit of information that traveled from Indonesia to the two Communist super powers. Something devastating was brewing beneath the surface and with Vietnam showing no signs of resolution, this region had to be kept in check.

"The Brits are willing to go along with whatever we think is a workable solution. Suharto is ready to step up and take the reins if Sukarno falls."

Sharon was beginning to wonder just how much better off she was working for this covert group. THRUSH took pride in being evil, this guy didn't seem to know that he might actually be the bad guy.

''And just how far does it go? Murder, revolution? I'm a little confused, I thought the idea was to maintain peace and security." She was sincere, and the idea that she might actually help to foment violence made her nearly sick to her stomach.

"We do what is necessary. Indonesia must not fall in the domino trail of Communism. It's that simple. People get hurt Sharon, that's just the way it is. There is a Greater Good. We represent that."

She wanted to ask if he was sure about that, but instead she nodded her head. Who was she to judge, after all she had once been a part of a murderous organization. She just hoped her change of venue wasn't merely a lateral move.


	13. Chapter 13

After breakfast the teams split up to go exploring, hoping to find some evidence of a THRUSH presence on the island. April and Illya would ride back into town and revisit the shop where she had found the bird carving. Perhaps there might be other indications of activity that would lead them to the satrapy, if there were one.

Napoleon and Mark decided to take a hike, following along a guided trail at first.

"Flora and fauna, eh?" Mark would rather have had shore duty, he had missed the leisurely sailing enjoyed by the other three.

"Sorry Mark, I guess you'd be out on a surfboard if we didn't have this to do." Napoleon had his druthers as well; things with Sharon had been left in an awkward and unsettling mood.

As the two men pushed back fronds and listened to the sounds of the jungle, they were each reaching a similar conclusion.

"Nah, no surfing for me, I'll leave that to Illya.' He paused, craning his neck to look far to his right.

"Do you hear that?" There was something out there, a tapping noise. He instinctively started in the direction of the sound as Napoleon strained to hear it, following after his partner for the day.

"I don't hear anything unusual Mark. What does it sound like?" Mark stopped short, looking from side to side in an effort to locate what he thought he had heard.

"It's gone. It was a tapping sound, could've been machinery of some sort, or someone hammering on something." Both men stood perfectly still, willing the noise to start up again.

"I hear it now, it's coming from over there." Napoleon felt the familiar rise of adrenaline as they headed towards the repetitious sound of …

"What is that?" Standing beneath a sweet smelling _majegau tree_ the sound of the tapping intensified. Mark looked up and let an exclamation of disgust escape his lips.

"It's a bloody woodpecker."

"What?" Napoleon almost laughed as thought of the cartoon, and the absurdity of having been fooled by a bird named Woody.

"A woodpecker, and here I thought it was THRUSH." Napoleon was nearly doubled over in laughter at the thought of two UNCLE agents being reeled in by a bird, a real bird.

"Why does that make me feel better somehow? I mean, would you rather confront a THRUSH or a blasted woodpecker?" Now Mark was laughing at the irony, and without anything more to go on, the two turned around and headed back to the beach.

Things weren't any more productive for Illya and April as they masqueraded as the married couple, Rita and Nick Ramsay. The shopkeeper seemed to not recall the story she had related to April on the first day in, and now several varieties of birds could be seen lining the shelves of the little shop. Over on the other side of the store someone was telling a group of tourists a story, the oohs and ahhs indicating the wonderment of the ignorant.

"They're just relating odd bits, superstitions and spirits set loose amongst the islanders. It's all rubbish." Illya felt dispirited, if he were honest. This entire trip seemed to be in search of the proverbial wild goose, and no amount of chasing silly stories would make him feel convinced that there was anything going on here related to THRUSH.

"It would appear that the only real game in town is somehow related to those other spies." April didn't want to say it, name those other espionage agencies out in public.

"I agree, and they seem to be just as flummoxed as we are as to why we're here at all." Illya needed to get in touch with Napoleon, find out if they were having any luck on their expedition. He doubted it. The only game in town was political, and THRUSH wasn't part of it.

"Why did our agent end up dead? Dave Rogers was here for two days before he was killed. Maybe we need to follow his steps instead of trying to track down THRUSH." April searched Illya's face, watching the blue eyes as he considered what she said.

"You are absolutely correct Miss Dancer, or rather… Mrs. Ramsay." He leaned in and kissed her on the cheek, regretting it instantly as he tried to convince himself it was all in keeping up their image of a married couple.

April's response was to take his hand and lead him out onto the little boardwalk that fronted the shop.

"Let's get some lunch and then head back. Maybe the guys will be back and we can get ourselves a new plan."

Illya agreed. Food sounded right, and April's instincts were right. Whatever had happened to Dave Rogers was where they needed to begin.


	14. Chapter 14

The four UNCLE agents were confounded by their lack of evidence of a THRUSH presence on Bali. The one thing they had was the death of an agent. If Dave Rogers was on the island as part of a mission, there was no record of it, and yet his death reeked of intrigue.

"What were the results of the coroner's report?" Napoleon hadn't seen the report yet, but Illya had perused it as searched for clues to why Rogers was dead. As he sat down at the table Illya introduced the agent from Hong Kong.

"Agent Suzi Chen, this is Napoleon Solo. He is CEA of the Northwestern region." The paperwork had been slow in coming to them, passing through several hands before finally arriving on the desk of the Section Chief in Hong Kong. The copy now in Illya's hands was delivered by Agent Chen, dispatched from the Hong Kong Headquarters as soon as it became available.

Suzi Chen was newly appointed to her position, a Section III agent who was part of the emerging female presence. She and April had met while in Survival School.

"I understand you know Miss Dancer." Napoleon was struck by the woman's beauty, and the uniqueness of her features; vivid blue eyes peered from beneath the straight black bangs.

"Yes, we attended Survival School together.' Illya thought he detected something in the young woman's tone of voice, a barely discernible trace of ... something. Her smile was emotionless as she cast a glance towards April. She was still talking...

"I was not quite ready for Section II according to my results, however I am slated for additional training. I am hopeful of being transferred very soon."

Suzi Chen was soaking up the environment among UNCLE's top agents. She aspired to be among their ranks, to be the second woman to become a Section II operative. This detail to Bali was an indication of her superiors' confidence in the young woman, and she was determined to not let this opportunity pass by without the recognition she felt was rightfully hers.

April and Mark returned from ordering drinks for everyone, the food was already on the table; a platter of beef and chicken satay with peanut sauce. Grilled vegetables accompanied the meat, with a generous helping of fragrant jasmine rice. Individual plates allowed for self service of this casual meal.

"I say we eat and talk at the same time, I'm famished." April's announcement was met with approval as they loaded their plates with the satay, rice and vegetables. Each of them related their experiences of the day, laughing at the woodpecker account and empathizing with the lack of corroboration concerning a THRUSH scheme on Bali.

Illya was puzzling over the situation when someone approached the table. Her voice caused him to look up, catching the expression on Napoleon's face as Sharon asked to speak to him privately.

''I can't imagine that there's anything my associates shouldn't be privy to." It was blunt, an emotionless reply that betrayed nothing of the feelings he had for this woman. April exchanged glances with Mark while Suzi Chen remained clueless to what had transpired less than twenty-four hours previous to this moment.

"Napoleon… very well. I suppose we're all in this together." Sharon sat down at Napoleon's gesture to the seat next to Suzi.

"Does this concern THRUSH?" It was possible that the CIA agent had information, and apparently she was willing to share something with the UNCLE agents. Illya thought a form of cooperation might be evolving against all odds of it ever happening.

"THRUSH is nowhere to be found on this island. We mistook certain, shall we say, misleading circumstances, to be indicators of their presence here. We now believe that your man, Dave Rogers, met his death because he came upon another type of conspiracy." She looked around the table, then set her attention on Napoleon.

"And…? Are you going to tell us what that conspiracy is?" Napoleon's tone was icy, almost hostile. It seemed out of character for him, which told his compatriots that something had happened between him and the lovely CIA agent to cause this rift. The effect was not lost on Illya who began to mentally step back from his romantic inclinations regarding April. It would be a mistake, and sitting here watching his friend only served to reinforce what he knew to be true.

Sharon sighed, shrugging her shoulders in a 'I don't know' affect. She didn't have a green light to tell them anything more, only that THRUSH wasn't responsible.

"I wish I had more, I really do. There's a political firestorm brewing here, and on Jakarta. Indonesia is unstable in spite of some economic growth and the leadership of Sukarno. He's …" Illya blanched at the attempt to put the blame on Indonesia's first and only president since their independence from the Dutch.

"I have no doubts about the activities of both Great Britain and America to undermine Sukarno. No wonder we found ourselves surrounded by MI6 and the CIA." Revolution was not the exclusive domain of communists, and fomenting a revolution to rid a man who was endangering an economic base in Indonesia because of his ties to Red China and the Soviet Union suddenly impinged on Illya's tendency to withhold his opinion on such things.

Sharon's expression didn't change, she couldn't give anything away. But Kuryakin was right, and the UNCLE agent had been killed by people endeavoring to usurp power from Sukarno. But it wasn't the CIA who killed Dave Rogers; some of this was simply out of control.

Napoleon caught something in Sharon's eyes, just the glint of recognition in what Illya said.

"Damn it Sharon, is the CIA involved in this? And MI6?' She was shocked at the vitriol in his voice. Could this be the same man who had made love to her just last night?

"Napoleon… What do you want from me? I work for the CIA, I follow the rules."

"Follow what's right, Sharon!" April nearly jumped at the outburst, and Illya got up from his chair and yanked Napoleon up from his.

"Come with me." Illya led his friend away from the table, away from the conflict and confusion.

"She can't divulge more than she knows my friend. I believe her when she says the CIA isn't responsible for Roger's death; there is an hysteria that begins to flow through a population that is being led to revolution or mutiny. All it takes is misplaced zeal to create an environment for mayhem, even murder.' Illya paused to look at his friend, try to gauge his thoughts.

"I do not think this is a situation for UNCLE, and if what I believe is happening is nearing its zenith, then I do not think it is a good place for me." That caught Napoleon's attention.

"What do you mean? Do you think you might be targeted?" Illya shook his head.

"What I mean is, there will be sides to join among the military and the population. Sukarno has warmed up to Red China, and there is talk of him aligning Indonesia with them in ways that will undermine the West. I am a Soviet citizen, neither a Westerner nor a citizen of this domain, the Chinese element. Sukarno is a freedom fighter, but there are those in the military who wish to cut ties with mainland China, who see communism as a plague that will set back their country and make them mere pawns of the Chinese."

Napoleon was suddenly tired. He disliked politics, abhorred the divisions created by opposing factions trying to eradicate the other side. His friend, his partner, might fall victim to whatever or whoever had killed Dave Rogers. Illya was right, this wasn't a situation for UNCLE.

"Okay, let's.. um… let's call Waverly and start packing our bags. I don't see any reason to remain. Dave Rogers' death is going to be attributed to political fallout. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time. The coroner's report simply states that he died from a gunshot wound to the abdomen; he bled out. Helluva way for a good man to die." Illya put his hand on Napoleon's shoulder as they turned to walk back to the table. None of the others were talking, and the room was empty save for them and a few of the staff.

Napoleon looked at Sharon, he regretted the breach between them after having been so close, even for the brief time they were together. He remembered the first time he saw her, the compassion he felt she possessed in contrast to the people she worked for at the time.

There was nothing left to do but announce their departure. Beyond the idyllic setting in which they were staying, there was danger in paradise. There were real spooks here, the kind that influenced and manipulated seats of power, started revolutions… real spies. UNCLE didn't do that, it wasn't their mission.

"All right everyone, let's enjoy our last meal and go back to our huts to pack our bags. We're done here." Every face was on Napoleon, each person had questions. April was, of course, the first one to speak. She'd be lying if she said she wasn't disappointed, and not just for the sake of their assignment.

"So, that's it? We have nowhere else to go with this?" She looked around the table, settling on Sharon. "Are you staying on?" Her tone was slightly accusatory, as though the CIA beauty was the cause of their departure.

"April, I … I still have a job to do.' She looked again at Napoleon, trying to read his mind. "Perhaps I'd better leave you all to your plans." She rose from her chair and turned towards Napoleon, hoping to see something different in his eyes.

The moment was disrupted as a shot rang out.


	15. Chapter 15

No windows to crack, easy access from the beach. The shot fired came from a man who was now running through the sand as he tried to escape. Illya didn't hesitate, he was in pursuit almost instantly, glad to not be wearing street shoes as he hit the sand and labored against the natural resistence.

Illya was fast, faster than the assassin. He caught up with him and tackled him from behind, sending the rifle out into the water just as a blow was struck that knocked the man unconscious.

The others stood stunned at the violent intrusion. Sharon was on the floor, the flow of blood the first indication that she was severely wounded. Napoleon knelt down and tried to speak to her, his emotional state now compromised by both guilt and fear.

April ran towards the bar and yelled for help, sympathetic when the bartender rose up from behind the big teakwood structure, his face ashen from such a close encounter with violence.

"Can you call an ambulance, or a doctor… anyone?" The poor man fumbled with a phone, but they weren't in a cosmopolitan setting, or anything close to it. Help would be a long time in coming. He managed to dial an operator and explain that someone had been shot, promises were made on the other end.

"They will come, but it is slow here. Your friend…' he looked toward the table, still shaking slightly from the terrible event.

"She, is she alive?"

April put her hand over his and thanked him, then walked back over to the table. Napoleon was on his haunches, his head down. Mark took April by the arm, whispering the awful truth.

"Oh… Oh, Napoleon darling… I am so … " He looked up at her, his expression saying he didn't want to hear anything more. Sharon was dead, and his last words to her had been unkind. He stood up, looked at the others and past them to see Illya dragging the shooter behind him. Mark followed his gaze and ran out to help bring the man inside.

"Napoleon, is she…?" Illya's heart sank a little at his friend's expression.

"Who sent him? Whose side is he on, do you know?" Napoleon wanted to know why two people were dead, and how politics played a part in all of it. Illya shrugged, he had nothing to offer. The man was still unconscious and he hadn't stopped to ask questions before knocking him out.

"We will get to the bottom of this, but I suspect …' Illya hesitated, looking around the table. Suzi Chen was trying to remain composed, but nothing had prepared her for this. No one was supposed to die. Something made Illya look at her more closely, scrutinizing her expression and body language. Something was off.

"I … Miss Chen, when this man comes to, is he going to recognize you?" There was a collective gasp at the implication Illya was making. Suzi Chen straightened up and turned her head, she was thinking and trying to figure out a way to avoid being interrogated.

"Mr. Kuryakin, what are you implying? I do not know anyone on Bali, I have only just come from Hong Kong, as you well know." She was determined to remain calm, this was not the plan she had agreed to.

Now Napoleon moved in a little closer. What was Illya on to? He trusted his partner, and if he was suspicious of Miss Chen, then so was Napoleon.

"What about it Miss Chen? Do you know that man? Are you involved somehow? Tell us now, perhaps we can help you." Was he crazy? This woman was handpicked to follow in April's footsteps. If they were wrong, Raymond Tse, the Asian Section Chief, would nail them to the wall over it.

No amount of Survival School training could have prepared Suzi Chen for an interrogation by these people. She felt trapped, and she was guilty by association. She never intended for anyone to get hurt, or to die. She had lobbied for this assignment in order to set things straight, because the death of Dave Rogers had been a mistake. The wrong person in the wrong place.

Napoleon could see her thinking, saw a small bead of sweat on her upper lip. She was guilty. Damn it all, she was involved somehow.


	16. Chapter 16

The tension in the room was centered on the young woman with the jet black hair. Napoleon, April, Illya and Mark were staring at her with expressions hard as stone. No one was sympathetic or likely to understand why Suzi Chen had found herself involved with a group of revolutionaries intent on seizing power from Sukarno.

When she finally spoke, her voice was small and delicate, like a child caught in the act of some naughtiness, unsure of her eventual punishment but hopeful of pity at least.

"I … No one was supposed to die." Suzi's head was lowered, a gesture of shame. She looked up from beneath the bangs that hung over her eyebrows to gauge the response.

"Is that supposed to mollify us? Someone did die, two people are dead Miss Chen." Illya's voice was icy, his familiarity with the violence of revolution and political upheaval a too near thing.

"There is a path to revolution, Mr. Kuryakin. You know it well, but in this case, at this time, no one was supposed to die." Her voice trailed off as she repeated what sounded like a mantra of sorts. Napoleon thought she might be in shock, his natural affinity for women was supplanting his abhorrence of the death he had just witnessed.

"Did someone promise you a …' Napoleon knew the others would want quick answers, he just wasn't certain they would come.

''Who told you, who is responsible for breaking your trust Suzi?" Appealing to her wounded sense of honor might help break through the wall she was building with each passing second.

"I am a Section III agent of the United Network Command for Law and Enforcement. I stand with the vision of the Command, but…' She saw Sharon's body out of the corner of her eye, remembered the report of Dave Roger's death. Her voice cracked as she thought back to hearing how one of the team had shot an UNCLE agent. She knew Dave, he was also out of the Hong Kong office. And now he was dead, and a CIA agent was dead. If Sukarno's government didn't hang her, the Americans would.

"I want a deal! I was brought into this in order to relay pertinent information to those in charge. They only wanted to start a movement to counter what Sukarno is doing, arming militants to support his move towards aligning with China, and imprisoning members of the Murba Party. He is president for life, and he is running this country into the ground with his narcissistic need for ultimate control.' She looked around at each of the agents in the room, pleading for understanding.

"He even controls what books can be published. Did you know that?" Illya immediately thought back to the prohibitions in the Soviet Union. Didn't Suzi realize that in the Murba Party's attempt to align themselves with the USSR, they were in league with the same type of censorship being practiced by Sukarno's government?

"You see wrongs and you want to make it right? Two people are dead Miss Chen. How does that figure into your agenda?" If Kuryakin didn't empathize with her, none of the others would.

"Dave Rogers infiltrated the party by associating with several members and feigning interest, promising support. He was discovered and… Every group has zealots. Dave got in the way of some and lost his life."

"And Sharon? Why was she killed?" Napoleon was gaining his perspective, taking back the authority of his position as a senior member of the UNCLE organization.

Suzi looked less timid, almost defiant. She had a cause and she believed in it. A calm began to come over her, a clear vision of her purpose in life, of the righteousness of what she believed.

"I am sorry for her death, but the CIA and the British are willing to help whoever will pledge allegiance to their pursuits. They want to take down Sukarno for his Communist leanings, but what then? All we gain is another power hungry puppet, and Indonesia is still unable to fulfill its destiny." Illya was perplexed about something, and it seemed an obvious hole in Chen's story.

"You are Chinese. The Murba Party wants to side with the Soviets. I do not understand your allegiance to it." Suzi smiled at the observation. Of course Kuryakin would seize on it.

"My mother was Russian, she and my father met at a scientific convention in Hong Kong. She was able to arrange to stay there and was attached to the diplomatic mission. It was highly unusual, the Hong Kong government were very unfriendly to the Russians.' She looked again at Illya, trying to gauge his reaction to this narration.

"I was brought up in the Hong Kong culture, but very aware of my mother's legacy and the love she had for her country. I am quite willing to pledge allegiance to that, having witnessed the cruelty of Mao's China among so many refugees."

It was a story, a history of sorts. What is was not was a good reason for people to be dead in its wake.

"Will you tell us who is behind this, this movement?" Napoleon thought it was little in exchange for the lives of two people. He detested the rationalizations people used to wage war, to ravage a country with more hatred, more chaos.

"I will. Will you give me amnesty?" April and Mark had sat down during all of this, but at the sound of someone entering the bar they both got up to see to the arrival of medical personnel, and the police. Napoleon needed to make a decision about what to do with Suzi Chen. She was involved in something that had to do with the country they were in, but she was a member of UNCLE. Illya instinctively knew what his partner was thinking and pulled out his communicator. He had Mr. Waverly before the gurney was brought into the bar.

"Waverly here, what is it Mr. Kuryakin?" Sometimes the sound of the Old Man's voice really did seem like an anchor amidst very stormy waters.

"Sir, we have a situation."

The details were given to Waverly as Mark and April oversaw the activity concerning Sharon and the man who had shot her. He was taken into custody with explanations about his fellow conspirators. Suzi was already giving out information, cooperating with the local authorities even as they were calling in government officials to oversee what would ensue in the way of an investigation.

"Miss Chen, you are to go with the police. April, will you go with her and make sure nothing …?' The unspoken suggestion that Suzi Chen might be harmed or tortured was met with a nod of affirmation from April.

"All right, Mark… why don't you go with them. Keep it above board."

"You've got it. See you … where?" Mark knew this little island jaunt was about over. Waverly didn't usually waste money or time on letting his agents linger at the scene.

"We'll meet you at Ngurah Rai airport. Are your bags packed?"

"Every day mate. Every day." Napoleon forced a small smile, the habits of a Section II included always being ready to leave, the bags always packed.

"We'll see you there then. Miss Chen will be handled by the Hong Kong office. We're all done here."

Waverly notified Hong Kong of the situation and was assured agents would be on the scene before the end of the day. April and Mark would be relieved of their duties concerning Suzie Chen, and head for the airport.

Napoleon and Illya watched as their two friends joined the parade of people leaving the bar. Sharon's body was enveloped in the usual black body bag; the local police would no doubt contact the appropriate people. Napoleon wondered if Roger Durning would show up to handle things. A long sigh escaped as his thoughts turned to the one night he had spent with Sharon.

"You alright?" Illya disrupted the memory.

"Yeah, I'm just dandy.' It wasn't sarcastic, but he looked at his friend to try and eclipse any sort of offense.

"Illya, sorry if that sounded …" Illya patted him on the back as they headed out towards the beach.

"It didn't sound like anything my friend. You know what?" For some reason that made Napoleon smile.

"No, what?"

"I've had enough of this paradise. I think I miss the noise and grime of New York. What do you say we go home?"

Napoleon straightened his shoulders and jutted out his chin. The world was a big ball of trouble, but he was an optimist. And home was where everything was waiting for another new day, another opportunity to save the world.

"I say it's about damn time."


End file.
